Take A Number - Amy Daws Page 0,78

I used to know.”

“Used to know?” I ask, leaning in to gain his eye contact. “As in biblically?”

Dean’s face sours as he turns to look down the table to see if anyone is listening. “Norah, this isn’t the place.”

I pause because his lack of an answer is an answer. I can’t help but ask, “How old is she?”

Dean hits me with a warning look. “It doesn’t matter. Why are we talking about this?”

“Just curious,” I reply and rub my lips together. “I didn’t know that was your type. Did she graduate from high school yet?” My voice edges louder.

“Stop,” Dean snaps, and we lock eyes for a long, heated moment that’s heavy and charged with sexual energy, wildly confusing me.

Nate clears his throat, and I see he’s watching our entire exchange with rapt fascination. “Everything okay here?”

Dean hits him with a glower. “Everything is fine, Nate.” Dean’s tone is sharp on the T as it echoes out over the table. “Better focus on your own plate there…ours are plenty full.”

Nate’s blue eyes narrow, and he glances over to me with a strange twinkle in his eye. “Norah, remember the time you gave me your first cookie?”

My brow furrows. “My first cookie? What do you mean? I’m pretty sure my parents were my cookie guinea pigs for years before I ever made outsiders sample anything.”

Nate laughs smugly. “No…this cookie was an extra special one. It was really late at night, the summer before we were both going to leave for college. And you told me you didn’t want to go to college without having this particular cookie tested?”

Pins and needles. My entire body erupts into pins and needles as realization dawns.

I take a sharp breath and glance over at Dean, who seems like he’s picked up on the analogy as well. I glance at my mother and Carol who are deep into a gossip session, thank God, and my father and Jim are too deep into their whiskeys to care what we’re talking about at the other end of the table.

I force my hands to stop trembling as I turn my eyes to Nate. “I’d rather not talk about that particular recipe, Nate. This surely isn’t the time nor place. In fact, I don’t think there’s ever a time and place we need to talk about that cookie.”

“Oh c’mon, Norah.” Nate huffs out a laugh and reaches out to hold my hand. Although, he doesn’t just hold it, he twines his fingers between mine in an intimate waffle hold. “It was a good cookie. And it was special. It means a lot to me that you—”

“That’s enough,” Dean says, leaning across the table to wrench my hand from his. He glowers menacingly at Nate. “One more word and you and I are going outside.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Nate says, holding his hands back defensively. “We’re just talking about cookies, man. Norah’s a baker. This is what she’s passionate about. I’m surprised you don’t know more about her passions.”

Dean flattens his hands on the table and eyes Nate fiercely. “I know a hell of a lot more than you ever could about the woman sitting between us. So just quit with the walk down memory lane, okay? You’re coming off a bit desperate, and you’re probably making your French horn jealous.”

“I think going outside sounds like a great idea.” Nate’s nostrils flare as his hands turn to fists on the table.

Dean’s chair scrapes against the floor, and I quickly stand and wrap my arm around his. “Bakery emergency! I’m so sorry, but we have to go!”

“What?” my mom tuts, completely oblivious to the showdown these two are in the middle of. “What kind of emergency could happen at a bakery?”

I flop my hands out wildly. “A small fire. It’s out, everything’s okay…but I need to check the damage.”

“Oh no, Norah,” my dad exclaims, concern etching his features. “Maybe I should come with you.”

“No, Dad,” I say, holding my hand up. “Please, finish your dinner. It’s a small fire that’s already been put out.” I pin Nate with a look that cannot be misinterpreted and then squeeze Dean’s arm tightly again for good measure. “And I have Dean, so I’ll be just fine.”

“Are you sure?” he asks, looking uneasy.

“I’m sure. Thank you for dinner. Sorry we have to run.” Dean’s body is as stiff as a board as I attempt to pull him away from a smug grinning Nate who, up until this moment, I thought was a decent guy—an old friend I have